Deep Space Nine-Avengers Crossover
by FemaleChauvinist
Summary: Stede has finally met his match in a man who is the mirror image of himself. When he wakes, he's recovering from his injuries on a spaceship far in the future. Can Dr Bashir convince Sisko to take the Defiant back in time to return Stede and deal with his double? [Chapter 3 edited 1-2017] J. Steed, Mrs C. Gale, Dr M. King
1. Prologue

******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions; I just ask that you wait until after the first couple of chapter so you have some idea where the story is going. Thanks! Barbie_

 **A/N #1: When I watch a movie or TV show, the characters' voices have a tendency to get stuck in my head, making it hard to think out any other story. I was really into Deep Space Nine, but after watching The Avengers, everyone sounded like Steed. Rather than try to fight it, I came up with this crossover. A few weeks later, I found out about Dr King for the first time, and realized adding him in would explain Bashir's lack of immediate action when someone was shot. Barbie**

 **A/N #2: This story follows the timelines of my Deep Space Nine and Avengers alternate histories, but I don't consider it to have actually "happened" in either story. Normally I try to avoid mentioning Bashir's enhancements, even in narrative or his own thoughts, until after they're discovered (even in my story of that discovery, I'm going to avoid mentioning it until it actually comes out, though I might have more hints than usual!). It's fun putting in things where if you don't know Bashir is enhanced you won't guess, but someone who** _ **does**_ **know (which is probably everyone!) would realize that's what Bashir's thinking of or how he could do something. But in this story I was having trouble not referring to it more directly, and I decided that since it (probably) didn't really "happen," it was all right to make an exception to my rule. Barbie**

 **Disclaimer:** While the attempt has been made to be medically accurate, some artistic license has been taken, and statements made by Drs Bashir and King are not to be regarded as authoritative.

Recognizable Star Trek characters and plotlines are the property of Paramount and Viacom; recognizable Avengers characters and plotlines are the property of Associated British Corporation (with spelling of some names altered to suit the author's preference); all original characters and story © 2016 FemaleChauvinist.

 _Do not post without permission. Do not copy/print without including the above disclaimer in its entirety._

 **A/N: "Season" given for timing reference only; see my profile for the alternate histories used in this story. Barbie**

 _Deep Space Nine Season Four_

John Stede moaned, opening his eyes and squinting against the light, the brightness making his head pound. Where was he…? The last thing he remembered was that alley, but even with blurred and double vision he could tell that this was no alley. There was a sterile, futuristic look to it, accentuated by the computerized hum in the background…or was that his ears ringing?

He must be badly hurt; his chest ached sharply and he could barely breathe. He had to get out of here…had to find a doctor…

But as he attempted to move, pain exploded through his whole body. With a gasp of shock, he lost consciousness once more.

 **First chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	2. Space Rescue

******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions; I just ask that you wait until after the first couple of chapters so you have some idea where the story is going. Thanks! Barbie_

 **Chapter One: Space Rescue**

On the bridge of the u.s.s. _Defiant_ , Lieutenant Jadzia Dax stared at the runabout on her computer screens. "It's not answering our hails, sir," she told Captain Benjamin Sisko, who stood looking over her shoulder. "It appears to be unmanned, but I'm getting lifesigns."

Sisko tapped his combadge. "Dr Bashir, report to the bridge."

"On my way, sir," the doctor answered. Moments later, he stepped onto the bridge and joined Sisko, looking over Dax's other shoulder. "What's the problem?"

"Lifesigns on an unmanned runabout, but it's not answering our hails," Sisko responded.

"Life support systems look good," Dax murmured, "and I don't see any sign it was attacked."

"The occupant may have suffered a medical emergency," Bashir suggested instantly. "Permission to beam aboard, sir?"

Sisko nodded. "Get your supplies and meet Dax at the transporters; I don't want you going down there alone."

"Two minutes, Dax," Bashir told her, and left the bridge more quickly than he had come.

Two minutes and twenty seconds later, he joined Dax at the transporters with a bulging medkit slung over his shoulder. "Beam us close to that set of lifesigns," he told the operator.

"Not too close," Dax objected. "We don't know for sure he's in trouble, Julian. It could be a trap." She drew her phaser as she spoke, setting it on stun.

Julian narrowed his eyes. "You aren't going ahead to protect me, Jadzia."

Jadzia rolled her eyes. "You've rescued too many damsels in distress in those holosuites. But you want to play male hero, _you_ take the phaser." She offered it handle first, but he reconsidered, shaking his head.

"No, it doesn't matter; I'm sure it's not a trap, and we're wasting time here. Let's get going."

Dax nodded and stepped onto the transporter pad beside him. "Energize."

In the split second before the beam took them, Bashir realized they never _had_ agreed on how close to the lifesigns to be beamed.

The instant he materialized, Julian saw the man on the deck, and the next moment was striding forward, tricorder in hand.

"Careful, Julian! It could still be a trap."

Dr Bashir shook his head sharply. "No one could fake breathing like that." He dropped to his knees beside the still figure, and was completely astonished to see the man's eyes slit open. "Help…me."

The words were barely audible, yet Bashir understood or guessed at their meaning. "Yes, I will," he assured him gently, running a tricorder scan even as he spoke. "Just lie still; don't even try to move. I'm a doctor; I'll take care of you."

"How bad is it?" Dax questioned, kneeling at Julian's side as he studied the results of the scan.

"Bad," he said grimly, fitting a vial in his hypospray and injecting the pain reliever. "He has a fractured skull with a severe concussion, two stress fractures in his neck, a broken jaw, three broken ribs and a punctured lung, a bruised kidney, and too many minor bruises and scrapes to mention." He deftly inserted a tube in the man's throat and turned on the respirator to give him much-needed oxygen.

Dax looked around. "It doesn't make sense," she murmured. "There's no one else here…no sign of a struggle…"

"I don't have time to worry about that now," Bashir said shortly. Slipping a brace under the man's neck, he touched the switch to inflate it and immobilize the fractures.

"Will he be all right?" Dax asked quietly.

"I'll do all I can," Dr Bashir answered. He injected another drug, then scanned him again. "That's as stable as I can get him here." He tapped his combadge as Dax picked up the umbrella and hat lying nearby, looking at them curiously. ***** "Bashir to _Defiant_ ; beam my patient and me directly to sickbay."

 **oOo**

Bashir began issuing orders the instant he materialized in the sickbay, getting the man on life support in a biobed. He couldn't help wishing for his full staff on Deep Space Nine, with at least one other qualified surgeon to aid him. The team here was highly trained and qualified, though small, but none of them were doctors. He would have to perform all the surgery himself, which meant triage to determine which of the two critical injuries was most pressing.

He began rapidly calculating, even as he assessed the patient one more time. The punctured lung would become immediately life threatening approximately six point two minutes before the concussion; assuming all went smoothly in both surgeries, the head injuries would take up to an hour longer to repair.

The decision was fairly easy, then, and the nurses and medics noticed no pause in his orders as he prepared to begin reinflating the collapsed lung. Then he would repair the fractured skull and relieve the concussion, followed by the bruised kidney and then the fractures in the neck and jaw. It was at least six hours' work, and then there were all the scrapes and bruises…

He spared a moment to wonder what had befallen the man, then focused all his attention on patching him up.

 *** Illustration for this scene can be found on my DeviantArt account**

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	3. Mistimed Adventure

******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions; I just ask that you wait until after the first couple of chapters so you have some idea where the story is going. Thanks! Barbie_

 **Chapter Two: Mistimed Adventure**

Stede opened his eyes slowly. For a moment everything was fuzzy, but he blinked and his vision cleared. "Wh-where am I?"

A slim man dressed in what appeared to be a uniform of some kind stepped into his field of vision. "In the sickbay of the starship _Defiant_ ," he replied.

Stede squinted, the light still seeming just a little too bright. "I must have hit my heard harder than I thought…" This couldn't be real; surely it was merely a crazy dream.

"I daresay you did," the man muttered grimly. He pulled out an instrument that appeared strange to Stede's eyes and ran it slowly over Stede's head. "I'm Dr Julian Bashir."

"John Stede," he replied automatically, then coughed dryly.

The doctor touched a button, and the bed smoothly tilted up so Stede sat half reclined. "Dizzy?" Dr Bashir questioned.

"No."

"Good." He took a cup of water and held it to Stede's lips. "Just sip."

Stede swallowed, then grimaced slightly. "You wouldn't happen to have a brandy…?"

Bashir flashed a quick smile. "I'm afraid not. Look this way, please. Are you experiencing any blurring or double vision?"

"No."

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two."

"Follow my finger with your eyes, please." He lightly cupped Stede's head with his other hand to hold it still. "Can you tell me the date in Earth years?"

"Nineteen sixty-three."

Bashir had been performing the examination as a mere routine precaution, confident in his own work repairing the brain damage, but now he froze. All the other tests had shown the concussion to be resolved, but for the man to be over _four hundred_ years off…or was he? Bashir paused with his hand halfway to his tricorder to run a more thorough scan.

As Dax had pointed out, there had been no sign in the runabout of any kind of a struggle, and he had seen signs in Stede's injures that he had been moved after they were inflicted. Now that Bashir thought of it, the clothes Stede had been wearing more or less matched the dress of the characters in his 1960s spy holosuites. Almost as if in a daze, Bashir moved to where Stede's clothes lay folded nearby. Quickly searching through the pockets, he pulled out a leather wallet and opened it. Inside were several old-fashioned British bank notes, the paper soft and worn. Bashir fanned them out partway to see the dates; not one had been printed after 1962.

"I'm sorry I can't give you the exact day, Doctor," Stede called from behind him; "I'm afraid I don't know how long I was out."

Bashir replaced the wallet and turned with a smile. "That's all right; we…can come back to that later." He seated himself beside the bed with his aural monitor and opened the front of the garment Stede was wearing. Slipping the receiver into his ear, he switched the monitor on and pressed it to Stede's chest. "Take a deep breath and let it out slowly, please…and again…good. Is there any pain or tightness in your chest when you breathe deeply?"

"No." Stede stared at the unfamiliar instrument, sure it was one more proof that none of this could really be happening. He rubbed his head with a grimace; the opposite side, Bashir noticed, from that he had injured.

"Your head hurts?" the doctor questioned.

"No. But all of this has to be a dream brought on by a blow to the head; any moment I'll wake up and hopefully find Dr King tending me…"

Bashir grinned. "I assure you, this is no dream — though I realize I don't have any way to prove that to you. Your concussion is completely resolved, and I'm afraid you'll have to make do with me as a doctor."

Stede gave him a quick smile, and Bashir laid a hand on his abdomen. "Let me know if I hit a tender spot." He pressed lightly over Stede's entire abdomen, paying particular attention to the kidney he had repaired. "All right?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now let me see you wiggle your toes."

He checked the reflexes in Stede's legs, then took both his hands in his. "Squeeze as hard as you can…ow."

"Sorry, Doctor."

Bashir chuckled. "Well, I did ask for it," he admitted. "Generally speaking, how do you feel?"

"A bit stiff and sore all over."

"But nothing especially bad?"

"No."

"Well, it looks like I can let you out of sickbay. Let me know if you experience any dizziness or problems with your vision; any chest pain or trouble breathing; any blood in your urine." He paused, considering the extent of Stede's injuries. "On second thought, maybe you had better tell me about any symptoms or unusual sensations you experience."

Stede frowned at the serious tone of Bashir's voice. "How badly was I injured, Doctor?"

Bashir sighed and once more ran through the list of Stede's injuries.

"How long was I unconscious?" Stede questioned.

"I don't know for sure when you were injured; I've had you in my care roughly thirty-six hours."

Stede's eyes widened, and he once more considered the possibility that he was still in a concussion-induced dream. "You must be quite a doctor."

Bashir grinned. "I am," he said with teasing lack of humility. "But I'm afraid I can't take all the credit this time. If I were restricted to the same equipment and medications as your Dr King, you likely would have been in hospital at least six months, assuming you survived the first week."

"This is an experimental medical facility, then?" Stede hazarded.

"No; as I told you before, this is the sickbay on the starship _Defiant_. When I asked you the date, Mr Stede, you said it was 1963…it's actually 2372. I admit you had me concerned for a minute there, but I think you must really be from 1963, and were somehow brought forward in time."

"Or I'm hallucinating," Stede murmured.

Bashir shook his head. "Given what I know of medicine and anesthetics in the 1960s, and the extent of your injuries, I believe the pain would penetrate any trauma-induced dream."

"Assuming I was really injured as badly as I'm dreaming I was."

"Assuming that," Bashir admitted. "How much do you remember about how you received your injuries?"

"I was attacked…" Stede said slowly. "It was a man…who looked exactly like me. He was identical…except many times stronger. He knew all my moves…but he was faster than me. The last thing I remember is his fist hitting my jaw and the back of my head hitting the wall…fortunately, my hat hadn't come off yet."

Bashir glanced in surprise at the ordinary-looking bowler on top of Stede's belongings. "I'm sorry?"

Stede smiled. Swinging his legs over the side of the biobed, he walked over and picked up the hat, rapping it with his knuckles. "Steel lined…and there's a dent in it. My cracked skull probably would have been a lot worse if the hat hadn't taken some of the blow." He put it on, settling it on his head with a tap, and Bashir grinned at the odd picture it made with his hospital gown.

"I vaguely remember you finding me," Stede continued, "and then the next thing I knew I was waking up here."

"I'm still amazed you regained consciousness at all with that head injury," Bashir murmured. He considered for a moment. "It sounds like this double wanted to get you out of the way so he could take your place; you're fortunate he decided to send you to the future rather than finishing the job — though I suppose he might have thought you were dead, and he was disposing of the corpse."

Stede grimaced at the thought. "Any chance of getting me back?"

"It's physically possible," Bashir answered, "but there are regulations regarding time travel and dealing with people who have been misplaced in time; we'll have to convince the captain that returning you is the best solution. How much damage could a counterfeit of you do to history; what kind of work do you do?"

Stede hesitated a moment before answering. "I'm a special agent with the government," he admitted quietly. "Ministry of Defense."

Bashir grimaced. "That could be big," he admitted. "You should have something to eat, and then we'll see about convincing the captain." He walked to a replicator and ordered what he believed was a typical 1960s English meal, having recognized the man's accent as well as the banknotes.

Stede raised his eyebrows as Bashir brought him the tray. "I thought you said you didn't have any brandy."

"I wasn't about to give you any till I'd checked your neurological signs." He shrugged. "It's replicated, so I can't guarantee it's any good. I'll replicate some clothes for you to change into after you eat; I'm afraid we had to cut yours off you. Then we'll go talk to the captain."

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	4. Spy Heroics

[edited 1-31-17]

 ******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions; I just ask that you wait until after the first couple of chapters so you have some idea where the story is going. Thanks! Barbie_

 **Chapter Three: Spy Heroics**

"Captain, this is John Stede," Bashir introduced, leading him onto the bridge. "Mr Stede, Captain Benjamin Sisko."

Stede tipped his hat. "A pleasure."

"Likewise."

"And this is Lieutenant Jadzia Dax," Bashir continued as she stepped forward from the science station.

Stede smiled and caught her hand, lifting it to his lips. "My dear!" he murmured.

Bashir's eyes narrowed at the sight of anyone else flirting with Dax, though she had never responded enough to give him any real claim on her. Blushing slightly, Dax pulled her hand free and stepped back beside Sisko.

"What's this about needing to discuss something with me, Julian?" the captain questioned.

Bashir glanced around. "Perhaps we could go somewhere more comfortable?" he suggested.

Sisko nodded. "Come to my ready room. Dax, come with us; Worf, you have the conn."

Stede had apparently taken Sisko's skin color and Dax's Trill spots in stride, but he started slightly as he followed Sisko's gaze and saw the Klingon. He made no comment, however, and followed the others to the turbolift.

In Sisko's ready room, Stede held a chair for Dax, and Bashir once again felt a strange surge of jealousy as with only a moment's hesitance, she allowed him to seat her.

"What's all the mystery about, Julian?" Sisko asked again.

Bashir sighed. "Captain…Mr Stede is from 1963."

Sisko narrowed his eyes. "And he's already seen far too much of our technology to go back."

"I say!" Stede murmured.

"That isn't the worst of it," Bashir continued. "He's a special agent with the British government, and there's a double impersonating him in 1963 England. And considering that this double put Mr Stede in a runabout and sent him here, I think it's a pretty good guess he's from our time, gone back to change some key event in history."

Sisko groaned, rubbing his forehead with his hand. "We don't have much choice, then; we have to get the right man back into that timeline. I don't suppose you could suppress his memory…?"

Bashir winced. "I'd rather not, sir," he said honestly. "I would prefer to think a government agent could be trusted to keep our advances secret."

"Of course," Stede put in.

"Besides…I was hoping you wouldn't send him down alone."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning this double has already overpowered Mr Stede once; I think it's our responsibility to be sure he doesn't succeed in whatever he's trying to do."

Dax rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Julian, are you sure you don't just want to play the hero in a real-life version of one of those spy adventures you're always running in the holosuites?"

"Easy, Old Man," Sisko cautioned, Stede's eyebrows lifting at the incongruous nickname. "Whatever Julian's motivation may be…he's right. If this…double…is attempting to change history, then it's our duty to do all in our power to stop him, and try to keep the timeline from being disrupted too badly in the process." He turned to their guest. "Mr Stede, we will gladly attempt to return you to your own time, and help get the double back to this one."

Stede gave a brief smile. "Thank you."

"Will we all go down, then?" Bashir questioned.

Dax shook her head. "I'd better not, at the very least; we run less risk of damaging the timeline ourselves if only Terrans beam down, and as few of those as possible."

Bashir glanced at her with regret in his eyes, always eager for any chance to spend more time with her, but understood her reasoning well enough to say nothing.

"Your presence will be missed," Stede told her, and Bashir suddenly changed his mind. Dax had accepted him as a competent doctor now, as had almost everyone on the station, but he wondered a little forlornly if she would ever see him as anything more than a lovesick boy when it came to his feelings toward her. The last thing he needed if he was ever going to win her was competition from a man who was obviously several years older and more experienced.

"Just me and Stede, then?" he questioned, giving no hint of the thoughts that had been running through his mind.

"I think I should come as well," Sisko put in.

"That's certainly your prerogative," Dax agreed, leaving unspoken the fact that she thought it unnecessary. She hadn't truly accepted the necessity of anyone going down at all, Bashir realized; she still thought he was just after a spy adventure, with boyish ambitions of being the hero who saved history from being irreparably damaged by the double.

Sisko nodded. "It's settled, then; after we slingshot back, the three of us humans will beam down and see what we can do about correcting this. In the meantime, Julian, why don't you show Mr Stede to guest quarters?"

Bashir nodded, getting to his feet. "This way," he gestured, and Stede followed him from the room.

"You didn't mention my double's unusual strength," he commented quietly when they were alone together in the hall.

"No," Bashir murmured uncomfortably, trying to dismiss his suspicions of the reason behind the double's apparently superhuman strength. "Nor did you."

"I was taking my cue from you," Stede protested.

Bashir shrugged. "They'll find out eventually anyway, I suppose. Here's the room," he added, changing the subject. He gave Stede a quick lesson in the use of the comm system and replicator and promised to see that his belongings were brought to him before leaving to go to his own quarters.

 **oOo**

''Do you know what date you were injured?" Dax questioned, running the calculations that would enable them to slingshot back in time.

Stede looked at the ceiling, thinking hard for a moment. "Twenty-three April, I believe," he finally answered a little hesitantly.

Dax glanced at Bashir. "How reliable is his memory, Doctor?"

"He remembered the attack itself, so any memories of the time leading up to it should be accurate."

"We'll try for April 24, then," Dax decided. "Stardate 41701.7. We don't want to chance being there before you left," she explained to Stede; "it could set up some really weird paradoxes that would hopelessly snarl history."

"Whatever you say, my dear," Stede agreed.

Dax didn't reply, bending over her calculations for the next fifteen minutes, then double-checking them with Worf. Bashir watched the numbers flash across her screen at almost illegible speeds, idly watching for miscalculations that never appeared.

"We're good to go, sir," Dax announced.

Sisko nodded from the command chair. "Worf, take her back."

 **oOo**

"Stardate 41701.7," Worf announced. "April 24, 1963, Earth time."

"Good piloting," Sisko told him. "Plot a course for geosynchronous orbit over England."

"Aye, Captain."

 **oOo**

"No, no, no, these will never do," Stede protested, looking at the clothes Bashir had replicated. "The cut's all wrong; we'll stick out like a sore thumb."

"Sorry; the replicators aren't programmed for 1960s British fashion," Bashir apologized, mentally comparing the clothes to those in his spy holosuites. They didn't look that far off to him, but then those clothes had been designed by programmers in the twenty-fifth century; who was he to say how accurate they were?

"Why don't we beam Stede down alone first?" Dax suggested when Bashir and Stede explained the problem to her and Sisko. "One unfashionable person is less noticeable than three, and he can buy clothes for you and then be beamed back."

"A capital suggestion, my dear," Stede approved.

"You have enough money?" Sisko questioned.

"I have my checkbook," Stede assured him.

Sisko looked a little uncertain at the unfamiliar term, but guessed from Stede's tone that the answer was meant as a yes. "Let's go to the transporters, then."

Stede tugged ruefully at the replicated clothes as he stepped onto the transporter pad, wishing his own hadn't been damaged beyond repair. He adjusted his bowler as if to assure himself that that, at least, was his — Bashir having asking someone from engineering to knock the dent out — and hooked his umbrella over his arm. "Ready when you are," he said cheerfully.

"Oh," Bashir remembered suddenly just before Jadzia hit the switch. "Stede — see if you can get me a stethoscope and syringe."

He thought he saw Stede wink just before he disappeared in a column of light.

"We can pick those up after we beam down," Sisko told him.

"Maybe, but I'm not going down without my tricorder unless I at least have a stethoscope," Bashir said firmly. "And even then, if there's a pocket big enough to take it…"

"You can't use it," Sisko warned him.

"I can if you or Stede are injured and there are no observers," Bashir retorted.

Sisko shrugged in unspoken acquiescence. "Just don't let anyone else see you using it, then."

 **oOo**

They had given Stede a spare combadge, and within an hour he called to be beamed up. He materialized already wearing his new suit — not, to Bashir's eye, all that different from the replicated one. He carried two more full sets of clothing draped over his arm, concealing something else which he presented to Bashir.

"A mostly-stocked medical kit, Doctor; I found it in a pawnshop."

Bashir grinned, opening the black leather bag and looking over the stethoscope and other old-fashioned instruments. "Thank you, Stede; this is perfect." He could replace the drugs with his own modern ones, and put a tricorder and hypospray in the bottom, without appearing as anything more than an average 1960s general practitioner.

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	5. General Practitioner

**Chapter Four: General Practitioner**

"Hello, Miss Gayle," Stede said, smiling at her as he walked into her flat.

Miss Gayle looked up. "I don't have time for one of your cases, Stede."

Something dangerous glinted in his eye for a moment, but she thought surely she must be imagining it.

"Admiral Westlake is being honored at a reception tonight," he told her, leaning on the arm of the couch.

Miss Gayle raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"The Ministry believes an attempt may be made on his life."

"And they asked _you_ to play bodyguard?"

"Well, yes, but a pretty woman on his arm…who would suspect her of anything else?"

Miss Gayle frowned, a little puzzled at his wording. _Suspect_ her…? "Sorry; I have plans for tonight," she told him smoothly.

Stede grabbed her wrist, pulling her to her feet. "Your _plans_ will have to be changed," he hissed.

Miss Gayle gasped. "Let go — you're hurting me!" Something _was_ wrong; he was often highhanded, but never before had he been cruel.

"You _will_ help me!" he insisted, his eyes so angry now that she barely recognized him.

"No, I _won't_!" she insisted, jerking her hand to attempt to free herself. His fingers only tightened painfully, and she aimed a hard kick at him. But he caught hold of her ankle, twisting it with a wrench that made her cry out. " _Stede_! What are you _doing_?"

"You don't say no to me, Miss Gayle," he hissed as she leaned panting on the sofa, watching him warily. " _Ever_!" Suddenly he froze, as if hearing something too soft for her ears. Before she could see it coming, his fist smashed into her nose, and she let out a muffled scream. Then he whirled and dashed out of the flat, leaving her whimpering with pain and holding her hand over her nose in a vain attempt to still the flow of blood.

 **oOo**

''My double's probably taken over my flat," Stede mused shortly after he materialized with Bashir and Sisko.

"Is there another safe place we can go to make our plans?" Sisko questioned.

"I have a key to my friend's flat. Miss Gayle often helps me; even if she's not home, she won't mind us borrowing."

Sisko frowned. "But if she is home? It's bad enough that you know without tangling history by bringing anyone else into it."

"She's as discreet as I am," Stede assured him. "I often have her help me on my cases — unofficially, of course."

Sisko's face showed momentary doubt in Stede's own trustworthiness, if he would routinely involve a non-agent in classified investigations.

"We should check on her anyway," Bashir put in. "If the double knew she was a friend of yours…"

Stede winced, and Sisko offered no further objection.

 **oOo**

Barely a minute had passed since Stede had left, and Miss Gayle still stood leaning hard on the back of the sofa, panting and trying to come to grips with what had just happened. She knew she needed to try to find something other than her sleeve to staunch the flow of blood from her nose, but even the thought of putting any weight on her ankle made her wince. The pain had subsided slightly to a throbbing ache, but the slightest movement brought back a sharp twinge.

Suddenly a knock came at the door, and she jerked her head up. She tried to call out for help, but her voice came out as a croak. Another knock came as she cleared her throat to try again, and then the door swung open and who should come in but Stede himself, followed by two companions.

"How — how _dare_ you!" she gasped, looking desperately for something close enough to throw at him.

"Miss Gayle!" he exclaimed in horror. "Here, take my handkerchief; what happened?"

"Stay away from me," she hissed, snatching the cloth from his hand and applying it to her nose, at the same time taking a quick, incautious step back. All her weight landed on her injured ankle, and it buckled beneath her as she cried out.

One of Stede's companions sprang forward, catching her before she could fall. "Easy," he murmured. "Let's get you to the sofa."

Half fainting from the pain and loss of blood, and the shock of having Stede attack her, Miss Gayle didn't even attempt to struggle as he lifted her and lay her on the couch, gently propping her ankle up on a cushion.

She coughed as some of the blood ran down her throat, and the man was at her head in an instant, pulling her upright with an arm around her shoulders. "Here, lean forward so you don't swallow the blood." He rested a hand over the handkerchief she held to her nose. "I'm a doctor; may I?"

She nodded, letting his hand replace hers. She found herself trusting this man, despite the fact that Stede had brought him. Perhaps Stede had felt so guilty for his strange and unprovoked attack that he had gone to get this doctor to help…? Miss Gayle let her eyes slide closed, her brain too muzzy to attempt to figure it out now.

Bashir gently probed the bridge of Miss Gayle's nose, then eased the cloth away for a moment before again applying pressure. "It's not broken, but it's still bleeding pretty heavily." He thought wistfully of the anti-hemorrhal device in the bag he had quickly set down as he sprang forward to catch Miss Gayle, but knew he could use it only as an absolute last resort. "Stede, get me an ice pack."

Stede vanished into the kitchen without a word, obeying the slight urgency in Bashir's voice. Moments later, he handed him a towel-wrapped bundle. "Here, Doctor." He stepped back quickly as Miss Gayle sent him a sidelong glare.

"I'm just going to put this on the back of your neck," Bashir told her, slipping it beneath her hair. "It should help slow the bleeding. Sisko, see if you can ease her shoe off and get another ice pack on that ankle."

"Miss Gayle, who did this to you?" Stede asked with some urgency.

" _You_ did!" she spat.

"Stede, not now," Bashir said sharply. "Go get some more ice for her ankle."

After about five minutes, Bashir cautiously released the pressure and found that the bleeding had stopped, or nearly so. With a smile, he eased Miss Gayle down to lay with her head on the back of the couch. He glanced at the blood on her clothes and the handkerchief, and that which had dripped to the floor; though she seemed to be a gory mess, he estimated that she had actually lost less than a pint. "You'll be fine now," he told her lightly, a finger on her pulse.

"Doctor," Stede said quietly.

Bashir turned to find him holding a damp cloth, and took it with a nod of thanks. "Why don't you mix some lemon juice in a glass of water for her?" he suggested. He had read in an ancient medical text that lemon juice was once given after nosebleeds to prevent recurrences; he was skeptical about its effectiveness, but at least it couldn't hurt.

"How much lemon?" Stede questioned.

"Try the juice of half a lemon in a glass of water," Bashir prescribed on a guess. As Stede returned to the kitchen, he began gently cleaning the blood off Miss Gayle's hands and face. "I'm Dr Julian Bashir," he told her, "and this is my friend Benjamin Sisko."

She smiled weakly. "Cathy Gayle. I don't know what game Stede is playing at…but thank you for helping me."

"It's my pleasure," Bashir assured her. "Look at my eyes for a minute, Miss Gayle…good; you don't appear to have a concussion. Ah; thank you, Stede." He took the glass Stede handed him, a glass straw in the liquid. "Now, I want you to sit up a little and drink this."

Miss Gayle allowed him to prop her up, but held the glass without drinking.

"Miss Gayle?" Bashir questioned.

"Is it safe?" she asked acidly, glaring at Stede.

"But of course!" he exclaimed with an injured expression.

Bashir took the glass and sniffed the liquid, then took a sip. "He spiked it with some kind of alcohol," he said wryly as he handed it back, "but it's perfectly safe."

"Don't most tonics have alcohol, Doctor?" Stede asked innocently.

"Perhaps they do," Bashir admitted. "You sip that, Miss Gayle, while I see what I can do about your ankle."

"It's pretty badly swollen, Julian," Sisko told him; "I'm not sure how much the ice helped."

"Well, let's take a look," Bashir said easily, gently cradling the injured foot. The swollen flesh was an angry red, and Bashir had little doubt that within hours the whole ankle would be black and blue.

Miss Gayle winced as he probed the ankle and gently maneuvered her foot into various positions. "I don't think anything's broken," he said finally, "but you may have torn some ligaments. You should get it x-rayed within the next day or so to be sure; if the ligaments are torn you may need surgery." Even as he spoke, he wondered if such repairs had been done in the 1960s. And if not, would she have to have a weak or even a lame ankle for the rest of her life? Bashir mentally shook his head; he would repair the damage himself before he let that happen.

"I'm going to give you an injection for the pain," he told her, taking a syringe from his bag and filling it from one of his hypospray vials. Nothing in his manner betrayed the fact that this was the first time he had used an old-fashioned syringe, and Miss Gayle barely winced as the needle pierced her flesh.

After wrapping a snug bandage around Miss Gayle's ankle, Bashir took a stethoscope from the bag and moved back to the other end of the couch. "I'd just like to listen to your lungs a minute and be sure you didn't aspirate any blood," he told her.

He unfastened the top button of her blouse and pushed the fabric aside to press the bell of the stethoscope to her chest. The quality was far inferior to that of his aural monitor, the sounds not as sharp, but within seconds he had adjusted. *****

"Breathe deep and let it out slowly, please…and again…once more…" He straightened up, smiling as he removed the stethoscope from his ears. "Everything sounds fine," he told her. He nearly returned the stethoscope to the bag, then recalled that old-fashioned doctors keep them as ready as he did his tricorder and coiled it into his pocket instead.

"Were you hurt anywhere else, Miss Gayle?"

"He had a pretty hard grasp on my wrist," she answered, glaring at Stede, "but I think it's just bruised."

Stede took a step back, hands raised in a show of innocence. "Honestly, Miss Gayle, I didn't do it."

Tools of the Trade

She pushed herself up with her good hand as if she meant to jump off the couch and confront him. "Why, of all the —!"

"Easy," Bashir told her, a hand on her shoulder. "Remember your ankle."

She sighed sharply and flopped back, crossing her arms on her chest.

"Let me see your wrist," Bashir insisted firmly, "then we'll explain everything."

 *** Illustration for this scene can be found on my DeviantArt account**

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 ******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions; I just ask that you wait until after the first couple of chapters so you have some idea where the story is going. Thanks! Barbie_

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	6. Doubling Up

**Chapter Five: Doubling Up**

"It's just some bad bruising and a slight sprain," Bashir diagnosed after examining Miss Gayle's wrist as minutely as his limited means allowed. "If you're careful not to strain it further, I don't think you even need the support of a pressure bandage, unless you think you'd be more comfortable with it?"

Miss Gayle shook her head. "No; it's fine," she said a little stiffly.

Bashir merely nodded and sat back, gently laying Miss Gayle's hand in her lap. He would have offered her some liniment if he had had any, but he had discarded most of the bag's original contents with which he was unfamiliar, and his own supplies didn't include ointments for injuries he would typically heal completely within a few minutes.

"My _wrist_ is fine," she continued almost icily, "but I believe you promised me an explanation?"

"Yes," Bashir agreed, turning toward Sisko. "Captain?"

Sisko shook his head, gesturing toward Bashir. "You had more to do with it than I did."

Bashir nodded acknowledgment and proceeded to tell Miss Gayle how they had found Stede injured on a space vessel roughly four hundred years into the future.

Miss Gayle crossed her arms, wincing slightly at a twinge in her sore wrist. "And even if I believe this rigmarole, how does it prove that Stede wasn't the one who attacked me?"

"Miss Gayle, how long before we arrived were you attacked?" Bashir questioned.

"About a minute," Miss Gayle replied. "Stede ran out, then came back a minute or two later with you."

Bashir shook his head. "It wasn't Stede, Miss Gayle."

"Well, then it was someone who looked just like him!" Miss Gayle said hotly.

"Exactly!" Stede exclaimed. "I have a double, Miss Gayle; he's the one who attacked me and sent me into the future."

Miss Gayle narrowed her eyes. "And why should I believe that?"

"Because Sisko and I can both swear that Stede was with us for a full hour before we arrived; he wasn't out of our sight."

Miss Gayle shook her head. "I'm grateful to you for helping me, of course, but that doesn't prove you're not lying for him for some reason."

"Miss Gayle," Stede said earnestly, "even if you believe I'd attack you, wasn't there _anything_ about him that didn't seem right?"

His words triggered a memory, and Miss Gayle leaned back, closing her eyes in thought. "The voice," she murmured. "It was your voice…but something was off…like someone trying to imitate your mannerisms but not getting them quite right. And the _way_ he fought… I'm sorry, Stede; you're right — it _wasn't_ you."

"Miss Gayle, you wound me!" Stede exclaimed in mock hurt.

Miss Gayle smiled slightly. "No offense, Stede; you're good, but not that good. It was as if he was…inhuman."

Sisko glanced sharply at Bashir, who met his captain's eyes with a feeling of dread. "Could it be an…'alien'?"

Bashir shook his head, swallowing hard before speaking. "Or… _super_ human."

Sisko' eyes widened; he read his own horror in Bashir's hesitance. "You mean…enhanced?"

Bashir merely nodded, not trusting his voice.

"You knew," Sisko whispered.

"I…suspected. What Stede told me…and his injuries…"

"You didn't tell me."

"No. I — hoped I was wrong."

"What do you mean, enhanced?" Stede questioned.

Sisko nodded for Bashir to explain. "Doctor?"

Bashir drew a deep breath, forcing himself to speak through stiff lips. "In our time, scientists have discovered how to genetically enhance people to give them superhuman abilities — superior senses, strength, mental abilities. But those who have been genetically altered can be mentally unstable; sometimes power-hungry dictators, so the procedure has been outlawed."

"I've seen plenty of power-hungry people who _weren't_ enhanced," Miss Gayle remarked wryly.

"Yes, and not all enhanced individuals will be that way," Bashir agreed, struggling not to sound defensive.

"I've never heard of any who weren't," Sisko muttered.

Bashir forced himself not to flinch. "I think the fear is that an enhanced power-hungry maniac has more ability at his disposal to gain that power."

"While a _non_ -power-hungry enhanced individual would have more ability to fight him," Stede suggested.

Bashir flashed him a quick grin. "Theoretically, yes."

"So, you think my double's enhanced?" Stede questioned.

"It seems likely; either that or he's not human at all."

"Are the genetic enhancements what made him look like Stede?" Miss Gayle questioned.

"I doubt it," Bashir responded; "I never heard of genetic enhancements altering one's physical appearance to that extent, though I suppose it isn't outside the realm of possibility. But more likely he was surgically altered to match, or possibly he's even a clone. You're familiar with the term?"

"Vaguely…"

"A genetic copy of another person," Bashir explained simply.

"Ah."

"Whatever his origins, we need to find out what his goal is," Sisko stated.

"Oh!" Miss Gayle gasped. "He told me — There's a reception tonight in honor of Admiral Westlake — he wanted me to play bodyguard."

"Did he say where the reception was being held?" Stede questioned.

Miss Gayle shook her head. "Not that I can remember."

Stede appeared thoughtful, absently drumming his fingers on the arm of the sofa. "I can't call any of my contacts in case they've already spoken to the double…but I think I have a pretty good guess." He pulled out his watch and grimaced as he looked at the time. " _Tonight_ ; I'd better get busy if I want to be there in time to stop him."

"Wait, Stede, I'm coming with you," Sisko told him. "Bashir, you stay here with Miss Gayle."

"I don't need a babysitter!" Miss Gayle protested before Bashir could object to being the one left behind. "I'm a judo expert, not some weak female; Stede, tell them!"

"I thought you didn't want to help on this case," Stede said dryly.

Miss Gayle's eyes narrowed. "And how would _you_ know that if it was really your 'double' who attacked me?"

Stede raised his eyebrows. "Don't you always object to helping me?"

"It has nothing to do with chauvinism, Miss Gayle," Sisko put in. "I know plenty of female Starfleet officers who can handle themselves as well in a fight as a man. But whatever kind of expert you are, you didn't make out too well against him the first time — and now you can barely stand on that ankle."

"And I'm not about to let you try," Bashir added firmly. "Though as far as being a woman goes, Stede actually got it a lot worse than you."

"You healed my injuries, Doctor," Stede pointed out; "can't you fix her ankle?"

"I _can_ ," Bashir said slowly, "but using my modern equipment could alter this timeline…"

"She wouldn't have been injured at all in the original timeline," Stede pointed out. "Wouldn't you just be putting things back the way they were meant to be?"

Bashir glanced at Sisko. "Captain?"

Sisko sighed. "He makes a good point," he admitted. "Go ahead, Julian."

Bashir grinned and turned to remove his familiar instruments from the depths of his bag, the tricorder humming to life in his hand as he switched it on. He unwrapped Miss Gayle's ankle, then ran the device over the injury. "Good; it doesn't look like the ligaments were damaged after all." He grinned. "A few minutes with the muscle regenerator, and you'll be all set."

Miss Gayle watched with interest as he ran the glowing regenerator over his ankle, feeling a pleasantly warm tingle deep in the joint.

"It will still be little weak for a while," Bashir warned as he finished, "so you should avoid putting any strain on it — I wouldn't advise any judo for about a week, unless you want to risk having it give out on you. Let me fix your wrist now."

After repairing the damage to Miss Gayle's wrist, Bashir took the precaution of sealing off the blood vessels in her nose.

"This doesn't really change anything," Stede pointed out as Bashir returned the instruments to his bag. "Miss Gayle, Dr Bashir hasn't actually cleared you for 'duty,' so you should stay here. Bashir, you're still staying with her on the off chance the double comes back here; if he's really enhanced, I don't want anyone facing him on their own."

"Agreed, but I think you should stay with Miss Gayle while I go with Stede," Bashir countered.

Sisko raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

Bashir flushed. "I don't know what racial prejudice was like in 1960s England; but no offence, Captain, I look and sound a lot more British."

Sisko shook his head. "Dax is right," he muttered; "you just want your spy adventure." Even as he spoke, he admitted to himself that Bashir was right, his slight British accent becoming stronger in the presence of Stede and Miss Gayle.

"He has a point," Stede admitted. "And there's more likely to be need of a doctor where I'm going."

Miss Gayle jumped to her feet even as Sisko sighed in defeat. " _Doctor_ —! Stede, what if he went after Martin?"

Stede turned without a word to pick up the phone. "Operator, get me Dr King. Dr King, it's Stede…I need your help."

He spoke with the doctor for several minutes, convincing him to make an appearance at the reception, and then hung up the phone and turned to Miss Gayle with a smile. "He's fine, my dear; the double didn't even approach him about helping."

Miss Gayle relaxed, sinking back down to sit on the sofa. "Why did you make him come to the reception?"

"Safety in numbers," Stede responded. "Coming, Bashir?"

"Wait, Doctor. I'll agree your skills might be needed, but you shouldn't face him unarmed; take my phaser."

"And then what will you use if he comes here?" Bashir retorted. "I have a hypospray with a powerful anesthetic."

"That's good only at close range," Sisko objected. "And we're already established he's not as likely to come here; you need it more than I do."

Bashir still shook his head, and Miss Gayle got to her feet and went to open the drawer of her desk. "Take my pistol," she offered.

Bashir extended his hand reluctantly, inwardly recoiling at the feel of the cold metal on his fingers. A projectile weapon had no stun setting; at best it could be fired to maim rather than kill. "I changed my mind," he said abruptly, spinning back to face Sisko. "I'd rather have the phaser; you can take this."

"It might be better for you to have it," Sisko objected. "It's probably a better idea not to attract attention by using phasers if we can avoid it."

"Then I won't use it unless I absolutely have to. Please, Captain?" His voice was almost pleading, and Sisko looked at him curiously.

"All right," he said slowly, "but why?"

"I took an Oath, remember; 'first do no harm'?" he responded almost sarcastically. "I know sometimes even a doctor has to fight, but I'm in no mood to patch up the kind of damage that would inflict if I had to use it."

Sisko shrugged, accepting the pistol from Bashir and handing over his phaser. "I wouldn't worry about that, Julian. He's enhanced, a monster; it's not as if he were really human and your Oath applied to him."

Bashir turned abruptly, hiding a brief flash of hurt in his eyes before veiling his emotions completely. "Yeah, sure," he said flatly. "Unless they replaced his brain with a computer, he still counts as human in my book. And if it comes to that, I've known robots who were pretty human."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, and then Sisko turned to Stede. "Hadn't you better take a pistol, too?"

Stede shuddered dramatically. "I'm with the doctor on that; I'm not fond of guns."

"If you don't want to shoot anyone, you could use it to bash the side of his head," Sisko suggested half seriously.

"My brolly's good enough for that," Stede retorted lightly, swinging the umbrella.

Bashir snorted softly. "Lot of good it did you before," he muttered.

"Ah, but I didn't know he _needed_ to be bashed. Seriously, though, Doctor, _can_ he be knocked out?"

Bashir hesitated a split second before answering. As a doctor, he might reasonably be expected to know the answer, but he wasn't sure that was why Stede had asked him rather than Sisko. "Yes, unless they _did_ replace his brain with a computer — and even a computer can be disabled by smashing. But how hard a blow it would take depends on what his…creators…focused on when they enhanced him." He winced slightly as he spoke the word _creators_ ; Sisko didn't appear to notice, but he wasn't so sure about Stede. "If they were counting on his reflexes enabling him to duck a blow, they might not have bothered with increased skull strength to guard against concussion. Or if they're unenhanced Humans themselves, they might not have thought of it either way."

" _If_ , Doctor?" Sisko asked sharply.

Bashir shrugged. "Probably unenhanced, but the Earth human is a guess; some species' intellects are at least as high as an enhanced Terran's. In any case, he _does_ have lightning reflexes, Stede, so don't count on getting in that blow to the head."

"What about this?" Stede questioned. With a twist he pulled the handle from his umbrella, and dropped into a fencing stance holding a rapier-thin sword.

Bashir whistled softly. "Not bad," he admitted. "But again, you'll have to count on getting a chance to use it."

"I'll trust you to watch my back," Stede said lightly, returning the sword to its disguising sheath. "How good are _your_ reflexes, Doctor?"

"Oh…um…fair," Bashir stammered, his guard up at once.

"Then let's get going. Stay out of trouble, Miss Gayle."

Ignoring her infuriated gasp, he grinned and disappeared out the door with Bashir.

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 **A/N: I wrote this chapter based on Patrick Macnee's comment that Steed didn't rely on guns, before watching the early episodes again and realizing just how often he used them… Oh, well!**

 **This is also the point in the story where presumably they update Jadzia on what's going on, but I have yet to figure out how to actually fit it into the story. Barbie**

 ******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions; I just ask that you wait until after the first couple of chapters so you have some idea where the story is going. Thanks! Barbie_

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	7. Doctoring Time

**Chapter Six: Doctoring Time**

"You and the double can't be seen together," Bashir reminded him as Stede drove through the London streets. "He's pretending to be you, so it would disrupt the timeline for you to be together."

"Why can't your people just 'beam' him up?" Stede questioned.

Bashir shook his head. "We could if he was alone in a room and we knew where that was, or if he was the only person in close proximity to me or Sisko. But we can't pick out his lifesigns from a crowd to beam him up. Besides, that would be a display of twenty-fourth-century technology."

"And upset the timeline," Stede concluded. "But won't the phaser —"

Bashir gave him a lopsided grin. "Don't ray guns exist, at least in comic books?"

"Yes — and not just in comic books," Stede admitted. "That's classified, though, so don't tell anyone."

" _I'm_ classified," Bashir reminded him. "At least, as anything more than your average 1960s general practitioner."

Stede pulled up in front of an ornate building and jumped over the door; Bashir opted to open his side before getting out.

"This way," Stede told him, leading the way to a side door. "We can take the back stairs and keep an eye on things from the balcony."

Bashir followed him up, medical bag clutched in one hand, and soon they were standing unseen, gazing down at the people milling around below.

"I don't see 'you,'" Bashir murmured. "Where's Admiral Westlake?"

"There," Stede indicated, nodding toward a man with a multitude of medals pinned to his dress uniform. "And that's Dr King, standing by the potted plant."

Suddenly a look of horror crossed Dr King's face. " _Stede_! What are you _doing_?"

In the same instant, Bashir heard the sound of a gun being fired with a silencer. " _Admiral_!"

Startled, the admiral turned, and the shot that should have hit him between the eyes, killing him instantly, entered at a more oblique angle. Picturing the likely damage even as the man fell backwards, Bashir realized there was a chance he was still alive. "I have to get down there!" he exclaimed, spinning toward the stairs even as Dr King was pushing his way toward the victim, his low voice clear even to the two on the balcony: "I'm a doctor; let me through!"

Stede grabbed Bashir's wrist. "And treat him how? With your advanced instruments, in front of so many people?"

Bashir clenched his fists. "I can't," he realized with a groan. "But if he dies for lack of them, the timeline will be as badly damaged as if I had used them."

"He's not dead yet," Stede observed, watching Dr King still working over the admiral as the crowd waited anxiously for the ambulance that had been called.

"Let's get out of here," Bashir said shortly. "I can't stand to watch and do _nothing_. And Dr King may not be the only one who saw 'you' shoot him."

Stede grimaced. "Oo. Being arrested as a murdering traitor would _certainly_ change the timeline."

Bashir glared at him hotly. "That's all you and Sisko care about, isn't it?" Spinning around without waiting for an answer, he hurried back down the stairs toward the car.

 **oOo**

Bashir remained moodily silent as Stede briefed Sisko and Miss Gayle on what had happened. At last he jumped up to begin pacing the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. "I should have kept my mouth shut and let you go," he muttered. "At least you'd have a decent excuse for not helping him, and the time we wasted arguing might have been what kept us from being able to stop the double."

"What I don't understand," Miss Gayle said with a worried glance at Bashir, "is why he would shoot the admiral so openly if he wants to continue to pass as Stede. Surely he knows he'll just be arrested now?"

"Maybe the admiral's death was all he intended to effect to change history," Sisko suggested.

"So either way, we failed; I _should_ have helped him."

"We don't know he's dead yet," Stede reminded him.

Bashir snorted softly in contempt of twentieth-century medicine to deal with an injury of that magnitude, and resumed his pacing.

"Unless he _knows_ you've told me you have a double; maybe he wants to have you arrested for the murder, and then he can claim to be the real Stede," Miss Gayle suggested.

"An enhanced monster won't be successful at that for very long," Sisko remarked, "though his creators are more to blame than he is."

Bashir spun around. "His enhancements don't let him off responsibility for his own behavior," he said flatly. "He could be a decent, law-abiding citizen if he wanted to."

Sisko grunted skeptically.

"Enhancements aside," Stede put in with a quick sideways glance at Bashir, "he seems to be finding it hard to pass as a model citizen."

"I suppose an enhanced mind might have reasons we can't begin to understand," Sisko mused.

"Ah, but don't underestimate your own people, Captain," Stede told him. "What's your opinion, Doctor?"

Bashir glared hard at him. "Um…it's hard to say. Since genetic enhancements are _illegal_ ," he emphasized harshly, "the process isn't completely foolproof. Enhanced individuals are sometimes mentally unstable, so his reasoning may not be logical despite having advanced mental capacity. My guess is he did think the real Stede was dead, and he panicked when he found out he wasn't."

" _That's_ what he meant…!" Miss Gayle whispered suddenly. "I think his original plan was to pin it on me; he was asking me to be the admiral's bodyguard, but he said something about no one _suspecting_ me. I don't think he expected me to refuse to help him, and then the way he left so suddenly — I wonder if he heard you coming."

"Our coming probably saved your life, if he did," Bashir commented grimly. "I can't imagine him being chivalrous enough to give you less of a beating than Stede just because you're a woman."

Miss Gayle shuddered at the thought of what she had been told of Stede's injuries and what she had felt herself of the double's strength. "Then thank you again," she said sincerely.

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 ******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions; I just ask that you wait until after the first couple of chapters so you have some idea where the story is going. Thanks! Barbie_

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	8. Dr King

**Chapter Seven: Dr King**

At a knock on the door, everyone froze. "You…don't suppose…it's the double…?" Miss Gayle whispered.

Bashir and Sisko looked at each other and as one moved to station themselves one on either side of the door, weapons in hand.

The person outside knocked again, and this time called out. "Cathy? Are you all right?"

Miss Gayle relaxed. "It's Martin," she said, hurrying to open the door.

"How's the patient?" Stede questioned lightly as Dr King stepped into the room and Miss Gayle shut the door behind him.

Dr King crossed his arms. "First tell me why I should believe it wasn't _you_ I saw shoot him," he said coldly.

"I told you, I have a double," Stede reminded him. "And do you think I'm crazy enough to call you to give the admiral first aid if I was the one who planned to shoot him?"

"Maybe you are," Dr King said in the same flat tone. "Schizophrenia…split personality…your 'good side' could have been subconsciously aware of what your 'double' was planning, and called me hoping to prevent the outcome."

"He's not schizophrenic," Bashir said firmly, not bothering to argue the details and precise definitions of mental illness that wouldn't be understood for several more decades.

Dr King raised an eyebrow. "No? Then tell me why no one ever sees Stede and this 'double' together."

"You would have if you had looked up just before the admiral was shot," Bashir told him. "I didn't actually see the double, but I can swear Stede was on the balcony with me when the shot was fired."

"You'll forgive me if I doubt the word of a complete stranger?" Dr King said sardonically.

"Martin, I haven't seen them _together_ , either," Miss Gayle told him, "but I _have_ seen them both. The double _isn't_ Stede; his voice is off."

"I've heard that alternate personalities can speak in quite different voices," Dr King said skeptically.

"And Stede came in right after the double went out," Miss Gayle whispered, her doubts aroused again.

"But _I've_ seen the double," Stede pointed out.

Dr King shrugged. "I'm not a psychiatrist, so I wouldn't know for sure, but it seems to me a schizophrenic could hallucinate his other personality…assuming he's not just lying about seeing him."

"Mm," Bashir murmured.

"A hallucination couldn't have beaten me up within an inch of my life," Stede objected.

"That was a lot closer than an inch," Bashir muttered.

"Excuse me, but just who are you?" Dr King questioned.

"Oh, sorry," Stede murmured. "Dr Martin King; Dr Julian Bashir."

Bashir extended his hand, and Dr King shook it with obvious lack of enthusiasm.*

"And this is Captain Benjamin Sisko," Stede added.

Dr King merely nodded in his direction.

"How's the admiral?" Bashir asked quietly.

Dr King relaxed slightly, sensing in Bashir's face and voice the same concern for human life he felt himself. "Critical but stable," he answered, speaking only to Bashir. "But I still haven't heard a satisfactory explanation of what happened."

Stede looked at Sisko, his eyebrows raised in question.

Sisko sighed. "Oh, why not bring one more person into it?" he asked wearily. "As long as you're sure you can trust him, Stede."

"Absolutely." Turning to Dr King, Stede told him everything that had happened so far.

"You're _all_ crazy," Dr King muttered. "And I suppose you two don't have any more proof you're from the twenty-fourth century than Stede does that he's not his own double?"

In answer, Bashir knelt and retrieved something from his bag. "Dermal regenerator," he said quietly, handing it to Dr King.

Dr King turned it skeptically. "And I'm supposed to take your word for it?"

Bashir grimaced. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask for a demonstration," he admitted, opening his other hand to reveal one of the scalpels he had kept from the bag's original contents. Holding his left hand where Dr King could plainly see it, he made a deft cut across the palm. As the blood welled up, he held out his hand wordlessly for the regenerator. Switching it on, in moments he had reduced the cut to a faint pink line. "Satisfied?"

"I suppose I have to be," Dr King admitted as Bashir put the tools away. He looked toward Miss Gayle. "Sure you're all right, Cathy?"

She smiled. "My ankle's a little sore, but I'm fine."

"And you shouldn't be standing on it so long," Bashir scolded mildly.

"Why don't we all sit down?" Stede suggested. "Care for a drink, Doctor?"

"Brandy," Dr King replied as Bashir answered in the negative.

"Captain?"

"No, thanks; I'm on duty."

Stede shrugged and handed Dr King his drink. "One for you, my dear?"

"Yes, please," Miss Gayle replied.

Bashir caught the narrowing of Dr King's eyes at the friendly intimacy, and knew suddenly that neither he nor Dr King had anything to worry about. Stede wasn't especially interested in either Jadzia or Miss Gayle; he was just inclined to be a flirt.

"So how bad is it, Doctor?" Stede asked, sitting down with his own drink after getting one for Miss Gayle.

"He has a bullet lodged in his brain," Dr King said quietly, after a slight pause to determine which doctor Stede was addressing.

"Where, exactly?" Bashir questioned.

Dr King lightly tapped his own forehead above his right eye. "Right frontal lobe."

"Memory, judgment, behavior…" Bashir murmured, considering what was controlled by that part of the brain. "And the bullet entered slightly to the left; it must have left damage in its path…" He shook his head.

"It's a miracle he's still alive," Dr King agreed somberly. "Sir Charles Ellery is coming tomorrow to operate."

"The famous neurosurgeon?" Miss Gayle questioned.

"Yes. But even with him taking over the case, there isn't much hope."

"No…not unless _I_ operate," Bashir murmured.

Dr King raised his eyebrows. "You're a neurosurgeon?"

"I've done neurosurgery," Bashir corrected.

"And an excellent job of it," Stede said, lightly tapping his knuckles on his skull.

"Look, Julian," Sisko said slowly, "I know you're a good surgeon, but restricted to twentieth-century tools, do you really have that much of an edge over a twentieth-century doctor?"

Bashir eyed him steadily. "Yes," he said quietly. "Knowledge of the brain has come a long way even before the invention of my equipment…and I could have an ace or two up my sleeve." He avoided looking at Stede, willing the man not to ask if he had a deeper reason for his self-confidence.

"All right. But we can't just pass you off as this Sir Charles."

Dr King squinted at Bashir. "Actually…maybe we can," he said slowly. "I've seen pictures of him, and you have the same basic facial structure. With some makeup to age you and a false beard and mustache, you might be able to get away with it."

Bashir turned toward Sisko. "Captain?" he asked almost pleadingly.

Sisko sighed. "I suppose we have no choice," he admitted. "If killing Admiral Westlake is how the double intends to change history, then we need to do everything we can to keep him alive."

 *** Illustration for this scene can be found on my DeviantArt account**

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 ******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions; I just ask that you wait until after the first couple of chapters so you have some idea where the story is going. Thanks! Barbie_

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	9. Exchanging Doctors

**Chapter Eight: Exchanging Doctors**

"Dr King, can you find out the exact time Sir Charles will be driving down?"

"I don't want to be involved, Stede; I'm a doctor, not an agent."

"So am I," Bashir said quietly. "And I _have_ to treat that patient."

Dr King sighed. "For your sake…and the patient's," he agreed, recognizing in Bashir a kindred spirit. "I'll go see what I can find out."

"Thank you," Bashir told him sincerely.

Miss Gayle walked Dr King to the door, and then the four of them began discussing plans.

 **oOo**

"I still think you should be the one playing the victim," Bashir insisted, riding in the passenger seat as Stede drove down a wooded country lane.

"I would think a doctor would be better at faking injury," Stede pointed out. "If I were the victim, you'd look too much like you knew what you were doing, and he might not stop."

Bashir sighed, recognizing that Stede was right. And considering that he would only be pretending to be injured, it hardly mattered whether Stede knew how to treat him or not.

"This looks like a good spot," Stede said, pulling the car to a stop at a slight widening of the road and parking slightly cockeyed. "Better get in position," he told Bashir, jumping out before consulting his pocket watch. "If Dr King's timetable was right and nothing's happened to delay Sir Charles, he should be here in about five minutes."

Bashir nodded, joining him on the roadside. Lying down half on the pavement a little way in front of Stede's car, he bent his leg at as unnatural an angle as he could manage.

"That's looks uncomfortable," Stede commented, wincing.

"It is, rather," Bashir admitted. "But the important thing is that I don't think it's cutting off the circulation; I shouldn't have any trouble walking when I get up." Closing his eyes, he let his head roll to the side as if unconscious. "I hear a car coming; better get in position," he muttered, barely moving his lips. As Stede bent over him, he made his breathing as ragged as possible and willed his heart rate to slow down. He flattered himself that even a doctor of his own caliber would practically need to scan him to tell he was faking.

Stede bent over Bashir as if attempting to aid the injured man, looking up as a car came around the bend. Half turning, he waved an arm, signaling the driver to stop. ***** As the car pulled over with a screech of brakes, Bashir suddenly found himself wondering what they would do if they got the wrong man.

"What happened?" the man asked, leaving his car door open as he ran toward them.

"Found him lying here," Stede explained tersely. "Looks like someone hit him."

"I'm a doctor; let me see."

Stede moved aside with an air of relief. As the man knelt to check Bashir's pulse, Stede hit him with a well-aimed blow to the head. With a soft moan, he collapsed on top of Bashir.

"Sorry about that," Stede apologized, pulling the man off him.

"That worked almost too well," Bashir muttered, rolling to his feet and bending to help Stede carry the man back to his car.

"Afraid the double's onto us?"

Bashir gave him a wry half grin. "More like feeling something's bound to go wrong to make up for it." They lay the unconscious man in the back seat, and Bashir got in with him, checking his eyes as Stede went to move his car farther off the road and out of sight of passing cars.

"Doesn't look like you did too much damage," he reported as Stede got in and handed him his medical bag between the seats. "He has a mild concussion, but it should resolve on its own."

"Good. Better give him something to keep him from waking up too soon, though."

"Not with a concussion, I'm not," Bashir said firmly. "Anyway, my guess is he'll be out for at least an hour."

Despite his wish not to be involved, Dr King had offered to keep Sir Charles at his flat, wishing even less for Miss Gayle to be involved in what was, for all intents and purposes, a kidnapping.

"Hurry; don't let anyone see you," he urged, opening his door as Stede and Bashir carried the still unconscious Sir Charles up the stairs.

"Give us a hand, then," Stede puffed. Walking sideways, they lay Sir Charles on the couch as Dr King hastily shut the door.

"Just how hard did you hit him, Stede?" Dr King demanded, bending over the back of the couch to lift an eyelid and check the man's pupils.

"You doctors think alike," Stede remarked.

"I already checked; he's fine," Bashir assured him. "Probably going to wake up with a pretty bad headache, but nothing to worry about. My main concern is whether we got the right man; you said you'd seen photographs?"

Dr King nodded. "That's him…unless someone else replaced him with their own double before we got to him."

"Horrid thought," Stede muttered.

"Well, if they did, it's a good thing I'm replacing their double," Bashir said wryly. "You have my disguise?"

"Right here," Dr King replied, producing a wig and false beard and mustache, a pair of gold wire-rimmed spectacles, and a case of theater makeup. "The glasses have ordinary glass for the lenses, so they shouldn't affect your vision any."

Bashir nodded, trying them on.

"You should have had Miss Gayle do your makeup," Stede suggested.

"No, thanks; I can manage," Bashir replied, flushing slightly. "Dr King, do you have a shaving mirror you can bring in here so I can use Sir Charles for reference?"

"Of course," Dr King agreed.

Soon Bashir was carefully applying the stage makeup, drawing on the wrinkles the other man bore, and adding a birthmark just beside his eye. At last he turned around. "Well?"

Stede's eyes widened. "Were you ever in theater, Doctor?" he questioned.

"You can pass as Sir Charles as long as no one sees you together, and you don't run into anyone who knew him too well," Dr King determined. "Just don't let any nurses sponge sweat off your forehead, or those 'worry lines' will smear."

"Some of those are real," Bashir muttered under his breath.

Sir Charles groaned, attempting to sit up. "Ooh…"

 _Blast it!_ Bashir thought; he had hoped to be safely out of the flat before Sir Charles woke up, though as a doctor he couldn't help being relieved the man was regaining consciousness.

"Lie still, sir," Dr King told him, a hand on his shoulder. "You've had a nasty knock on the head." He glared upward at Stede.

Sir Charles blinked, struggling to focus on the faces around him. When he saw Stede, he gasped. "You —! But you're the one who shot —" Then he caught sight of Bashir, his double now for all practical purposes, and his eyes widened in horror. "No! You can't — Oooh!" He had again tried to sit up, but his hand went to his head and he fell back with a moan.

Bashir stepped forward and knelt beside the couch. "It's not what you think, sir; I'm not a charlatan Stede got to replace you to be sure of the admiral's death. I'm taking your place, yes, but I'm a doctor with a legitimate medical degree; I'll be doing all in my power to be sure Admiral Westlake survives."

"Why should I believe you?" Sir Charles groaned hoarsely.

Bashir smiled tightly. "Because you don't have a choice," he said, getting to his feet. "You just lie still and let Dr King take care of you. He can give you something for that headache, but I have to get to the hospital."

 *** I have an illustration planned for this scene, but at the rate I'm (not) finishing old illustrations, I decided to go ahead and post without it! (Especially since Bashir's position is really hard to draw, and I probably should never have attempted it in the first place…) I'll add it to my DeviantArt account if and when I ever get it finished. Barbie**

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 ******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions; I just ask that you wait until after the first couple of chapters so you have some idea where the story is going. Thanks! Barbie_

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	10. Hidden Aces

**Chapter Nine: Hidden Aces**

"Are you sure you know how to drive?" Stede questioned, accompanying Bashir to Sir Charles' car.

Bashir grinned. "It looks the same as the cars in the holosuite, so I should be fine. Gas on the right and brake in the middle, right?"

"Yes," Stede confirmed. "And you know the way to the hospital?"

"Dr King went over everything with me," Bashir assured him.

"Good luck, then."

Bashir nodded and got into the car. He spent a moment familiarizing himself with the feel of the controls as he drove away, then tapped his hidden combadge. "Bashir to _Defiant_."

" _Defiant_ ," came Jadzia's voice; Bashir knew Sisko had updated her on the situation while he and Steed had been busy "kidnapping" Sir Charles.

"Dax, have my team prep the sickbay for surgery, and stand by for emergency beam-in straight to sickbay."

"Acknowledged. Is the captain —"

"He's fine," Bashir cut in, immediately understanding her fears. "I have to remove a bullet from an admiral's brain; if I run into complications I can't handle with primitive technology, I want to get him to my equipment on the _Defiant_."

"Julian, be careful," Dax warned. "You could do irreparable damage to the timeline…"

"That's just what I'm trying to prevent," Bashir said grimly. "Bashir out."

He pulled into the parking lot at the hospital and hurried up to the entrance where Dr King had assured him someone would be awaiting his arrival.

"Sir Charles Ellery?"

"Yes," Bashir responded. One good thing about Sir Charles waking up, he mused, was that he had been able to pick up at least a little of the neurosurgeon's voice. "Has the admiral's condition changed any?"

"No, sir. We have him ready for surgery as soon as you are."

Bashir nodded. "Have the room cleared except for the anesthesiologist and one nurse; I feel cramped with too many people in there with me. Where are the x-rays of the bullet's location?"

"This way, sir," the man told him, pausing to pass Bashir's orders on to an aide before leading him to the room that held the primitive scanning equipment.

Bashir spent several moments studying the x-rays and planning the surgery, then followed his guide to a small washroom, where he carefully scrubbed his hands before donning the sterile garments. As he clipped the mask in place, he hoped the makeup's claim of being "smudge-proof" was accurate and that the mask wouldn't smear it too badly.

Admiral Westlake lay ready for him as he entered the room, the bandage already removed from the wound on his forehead. The small, neat hole gave no hint of the true damage beneath the surface that would almost certainly take the admiral's life if Bashir couldn't repair it sufficiently.

"Scalpel," he ordered, wishing he knew a little more about twentieth-century brain surgery to be able to do what his observers expected of him.

Carefully palming the scalpel the nurse handed him, he deftly switched it for the laser scalpel he had hidden up his sleeve, and hoped he could avoid cutting himself on the unguarded blade.

He carefully angled his body to hide the tool in his hand from the nurse as with careful precision he began the delicate surgery.

When at last he saw the brain itself, the damage was greater than he had feared, renewing his surprise that the man was still alive.

He employed old-fashioned forceps to remove the bullet; even if he had chosen to use all of his own tools, he had nothing to improve on them. He dropped the bullet into the tray the nurse held, then as she turned her back for a moment slipped a neural regenerator from his other sleeve. Working with infinite care, he rebuilt the damaged brain tissue, bending low over his work to hide the blue glow from the nurse. He was grateful for the noise of the old-fashioned respirator that would cover the low hum to her ears.

He had no monitors to gauge his success, but trusted to his skill and the effectiveness of the regenerator. When he at last switched it off and returned it to its hiding place, he was confident that the admiral would regain full cognitive abilities.

"Sutures," he ordered. He glanced at the nurse's face as she handed them to him, and saw no sign that she had observed anything out of the ordinary.

He stitched the wound closed without betraying the fact that he had done so only a handful of times before. He had brought only those of his tools that he felt were absolutely essential, and in any case absence of a line of stitches would raise too many questions.

He straightened his aching back and spoke briefly with the nurse and anesthesiologist before leaving the room.

"Well, Doctor?"

Bashir offered a weary smile as he removed his mask and gown. "He'll live; I can't promise more than that."

The man nodded his understanding. "You should get some rest."

"Yes," Bashir agreed. "I'll be by to check on him later."

Getting into Sir Charles' car, he let his head rest against the back of the seat for a moment as he ran through what he had done and tried to determine if it had damaged history.

At last he sat up, satisfied, and tapped his combadge. "Bashir to _Defiant_."

"Julian?"

"You can have the medical team stand down, Dax; surgery was a success, and the patient is stable in good condition."

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 ******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions; I just ask that you wait until after the first couple of chapters so you have some idea where the story is going. Thanks! Barbie_

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	11. Reputation

**Chapter Ten: Reputation**

Bashir smiled as he drove, thinking of the approval in Jadzia's voice as she acknowledged his success. Maybe he had a chance with her yet…

Leaving the car in front of Dr King's flat, he dashed up the stairs and knocked at the door.

"Who's there?" Dr King called.

About to reply with his own name, Bashir suddenly thought better of letting Sir Charles hear it. "Sir Charles Ellery."

He heard the click of the lock, and a moment later the door opened. "It was successful, then?" Dr King questioned, reading triumph in Bashir's eyes.

"Eminently," Bashir replied. "But if I hadn't been there…" He shook his head, his lips tightening.

"Come in," Dr King told him. He led Bashir into the other room, where Stede sat on the arm of the sofa, the tip of his umbrella against Sir Charles' chest preventing him from rising. *****

At the sight of Bashir, Sir Charles pushed the umbrella aside and sat up, tossing down the ice pack he held to his aching head. "I suppose you've killed him," he said sourly.

"On the contrary," Bashir assured him, pulling off the dummy spectacles he wore. "I believe I saved his life, and after a decent interval to 'rest' from the work, you're welcome to go and claim the credit." He took the cloth and bottle of remover Dr King handed him and began sponging off the makeup.

Sir Charles crossed his arms. "And tell me why I shouldn't report all of you to the police for kidnapping and performing surgery without a license?"

"I have a license," Bashir insisted. _Or will have,_ he mused wryly; it would be several centuries before he even graduated. "You know who kidnapped you," he continued softly. "Go check on your patient; if he's dead you can have us arrested."

"I say!" Stede protested.

"But if the surgery was a success, I did it in your name; it will make your reputation greater than it already is."

"Even if you _do_ have a medical license, what makes you so sure that a young pup of a doctor is a better surgeon than me?"

Bashir shrugged. "Go see for yourself. But if it's true…do you really want to admit it was a 'young pup' of an 'unlicensed' doctor who outperformed you?" A half smile twisted Bashir's lips.

Spluttering, Sir Charles turned, and Dr King opened the door for him. "Think he'll tell?" he asked, turning toward Stede and Bashir as he shut the door.

"Why? The doctor's logic was superb."

"Oh…um…" Bashir stammered, flushing and turning from Stede's gaze.

"Can you give us a lift back to Miss Gayle's flat?" Stede asked. "She and Sisko should have returned my car by now."

Bashir grinned. "I hope Sisko didn't have any trouble driving." The captain's taste in holoprograms ran more to baseball games; he didn't have even Bashir's fantasy experience.

Stede gave him a quick smile. "Miss Gayle is an excellent teacher."

 *** This is another scene that I have an illustration planned for, if I ever get around to drawing it. Barbie**

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 ******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions; I just ask that you wait until after the first couple of chapters so you have some idea where the story is going. Thanks! Barbie_

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	12. Even Odds

**Chapter Eleven: Even Odds**

"Coming in with us?" Stede asked as Dr King pulled up in front of Miss Gayle's flat.

Dr King shook his head. "I've already wasted enough time on your escapades; I have to get back to my patients. Tell Cathy I'll stop by to see her when she isn't all tangled up in one of your cases."

"Will do," Stede agreed.

"Thanks for the help," Bashir told him, guessing that that help wasn't given quite as reluctantly as he let on.

"They don't appear to be back yet," Stede noted as Dr King drove away.

Bashir frowned. "Even with Sisko driving, it shouldn't have taken that long to get the car. You don't suppose the double…"

"Miss Gayle can take care of herself," Stede said, but there was a lack of assurance in his tone, and Bashir grunted skeptically.

"Sisko does have his combadge," he murmured as if to assure himself. "He could have called me if they ran into trouble, or even beamed up to the _Defiant_."

"Exactly," Stede said with new confidence, unlocking the door. "All we have to do is sit back and wait —"

The door swung open to a dark, seemingly empty flat, but Bashir suddenly knew they weren't alone. Without stopping to analyze whether he heard, saw, or merely felt the double's presence, he shoved Stede to the ground and jumped to meet the attack.

The double's first punch landed on nothing as Bashir ducked to avoid it. The single second in which the double was off balance gave him time to draw his phaser. He fired, but the stun setting had no effect, and he flicked it higher even as he rolled under another punch and jumped to his feet.

There was no time to try intermediary settings to find the one that would have an effect on the enhanced double; Bashir set it to the highest level, consoling himself with the thought that if the double was completely immune to the stun setting, it was doubtful he could be killed even by what was normally a lethal setting.

In any case, he couldn't spare the time to worry about it, once more squeezing the trigger.

The only apparent effect was that the double burst into maniacal laughter. "Fool! I am more than human; that little _toy_ can't hurt me!"

For an instant Bashir stood in frozen horror, and then his eyes darkened in resolve. "Stede, catch!" he called, flicking the setting back to stun even as he tossed the weapon away. He knew well that _he_ was not immune to phaser fire; he couldn't chance the double getting hold of it and using it against him.

He still seemed to be fighting merely defensively, though none of the double's blows had landed. Then Bashir darted in, a hypospray flashing into his hand, and jabbed it against the double's side, injecting the full dose. For an instant he waited, afraid even that would have no effect, and then the double began to waver and fell to the ground with a thud.

Bashir grinned in relief, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. "I was beginning to think I might have to borrow your umbrella."

"You were quite a match for him," Stede remarked, groaning and rubbing his shoulder as he got to his feet. "Oo."

Bashir's eyes narrowed. "You're hurt."

"Hit my shoulder when you pushed me aside."

"Sit down and let me have a look." Bashir said, turning to get his tricorder from his bag. "Let me know if the double stirs at all. The dose I gave him should keep him under for a while, but with his enhancements, you never know."

"Doctor…you're enhanced, too, aren't you?"

"Yes," Bashir answered quietly without turning around. "You've known for some time, haven't you?"

"I suspected."

"And nearly gave me away," Bashir said a little hotly.

Stede winced. "Sorry. But your captain would never have guessed from my hints."

"How can you be so sure of that?" Bashir asked roughly, returning with the tricorder and running it over Stede's shoulder before probing the injury with his fingers. "For that matter, why didn't you tell him outright as soon as you realized I was as much a monster as that man there?" He jerked his head toward the double.

"Because you _aren't_ , Doctor," Stede replied firmly. "Oo." He winced as Bashir's fingers found a sore spot.

"It will only take a minute to fix this for you," Bashir murmured. "Go on with what you were saying."

"I was only saying that you're not a monster, and your captain knows it. Because he assumes all enhanced men to be monsters, it would never occur to him that you're enhanced."

"While you picked up on it because you're not prejudiced against genetically enhanced individuals," Bashir realized.

"Exactly."

"I never thought of that before," Bashir mused. "I've always assumed that all I had to do was make the slightest slip, and my secret would be out. There; how's that?"

Stede swung his arm cautiously at first, then more vigorously. "Good as new," he declared.

Bashir flashed a quick grin, then sobered as he turned toward the double. "I feel like a hypocrite, turning him in."

"But you're not turning him in because he's enhanced, Doctor; you're turning him in for his crimes."

"That's as may be, but his enhancements will prevent him ever getting a fair trial."

"Would his sentence be less if he did? You're the one who said he's not at the mercy of his enhancements."

"True. Still…" Bashir shook his head, unable to deny a strange kinship with the man. "'The double,'" he murmured. "We couldn't even be bothered to dignify his humanity with a name."

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 ******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions; I just ask that you wait until after the first couple of chapters so you have some idea where the story is going. Thanks! Barbie_

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	13. In the Clear

**Chapter Twelve: In the Clear**

"Since we can't turn him over to the British authorities, do you have any plans for clearing me?" Stede questioned.

Bashir flashed him a quick grin. "You're an agent; don't you have some kind of immunity?"

"Not for turning traitor and shooting an admiral without justification."

"Ah. Well, I wonder…" Picking up the double's hand, he examined his fingertips for a moment. "Let's see yours."

Puzzled, Stede offered his hand.

"I thought so; your fingerprints are different. That newspaper article said the gun was dropped at the scene of the crime, so it should be easy to prove you weren't the one holding it."

"But wouldn't he have worn gloves?" Stede pointed out.

Bashir shook his head. "Why leave the gun at all? He's too intelligent to have done it accidentally. My guess is he intended to implicate you even further, assuming that as your clone he shared your fingerprints. He wasn't aware that even identical twins have unique fingerprints."

"I see. But I thought we couldn't let anyone know about the double?"

"I don't think it will be a problem for them to know the culprit was a man who resembled you enough to be mistaken for you. Dr King might even be willing to witness that it _wasn't_ you."

"If you and Miss Gayle ask him."

Bashir smiled slightly, recognizing that Dr King didn't share his own inclination for spy adventures. Or perhaps even he would quickly be disillusioned with them in real life, where the deaths were also real and not every story ended happily.

"Let's get him out of here before he wakes up; I only have one more dose of anesthetic." He tapped his combadge. "Bashir to _Defiant_."

" _Defiant_."

"I have the double sedated and ready to be beamed to the brig. Put him under maximum security, with physical doors. He's completely immune to phasers, so I'm not sure a forcefield would hold him."

"Perhaps he should be kept sedated?" Dax suggested.

"That would probably be wise," Bashir agreed. "If he shows the least sign of coming to, only Worf should approach him."

"How did _you_ manage to defeat him without injury?" Jadzia asked, the faintest hint of concern in her voice.

"Oh…um…element of surprise," Bashir stammered. "Bashir out." He drew a deep breath, turning to Stede as the double disappeared in the transporter beam. "She won't guess either, will she?"

"Not likely."

Bashir sighed, shaking his head. "I supposed I'm going to need some time to get used to that idea." He groaned, looking around the flat. "If he hurt the captain or Miss Gayle…"

"Can't you contact your captain?" Stede suggested.

Bashir grinned ruefully. "Of course I can. You see, sometimes it takes a non-enhanced mind to think of the obvious answer."

Stede smiled appreciatively as Bashir tapped his combadge. "Bashir to Sisko."

"Sisko here. How did the surgery go, Julian?"

"Fine…and we captured the double and had him beamed up to the _Defiant_. But where are you and Miss Gayle?"

"At Stede's flat," Sisko replied. "We were afraid the double might come back to Miss Gayle's, but the police are here watching for Stede, so he wasn't likely to risk coming here."

"I'm surprised you got in," Bashir said mildly. "Stede and I were worried; why didn't you contact us to let us know where you were?"

"I didn't want to risk interrupting you in the middle of surgery."

"You could have called Dr King's flat," Bashir pointed out.

"Miss Gayle was afraid the wires might be tapped," Sisko explained. "We didn't want to implicate ourselves or Dr King with a call from this apartment."

"Well, don't they have public call boxes?"

"Julian, leave it," the captain ordered. "You've made contact now, so it doesn't matter anymore."

Bashir sighed. "Yes, sir. We obviously can't join you; can you meet us here?"

"We might be followed," Sisko warned.

"Well, if you got _in_ without being seen…or did you?"

"I'm not sure," Sisko admitted.

Bashir sighed. "I was going to suggest having Dax beam you over here, but it won't do to have you disappear if they saw you arrive. Stede and I can beam over there."

"No, better for him to stay away until we find a way to clear him; I think it will be all right if Miss Gayle and I beam over to you. We can always beam back if we have to. Sisko out."

"No more hints!" Bashir hissed, and caught Stede's nod just before Sisko and Miss Gayle materialized. He was willing to accept Stede's logic that Sisko would never guess he was enhanced, but that was no reason to purposely try to get him thinking. He wondered uneasily what Stede's earlier motive had been.

"Stede!" Miss Gayle cried. "Are you all right? Bashir said you fought the double again."

"Actually, the doctor did most of the fighting," Stede said smoothly. "Slipped him the mickey before I could even get warmed up."

"The mickey…?" Sisko asked in confusion.

Bashir gave him a lopsided grin, holding out his hypospray. "Injected a large dose of the strongest concoction of sedatives I could come up with. You see, I was right the first time; my hypospray _was_ the only weapon I needed." He sobered. "But I'm glad you have the projectile weapon for protection; he turned out to be immune to phaser fire."

Sisko's eyebrows rose. "Is that usual for genetic mutants?"

"Not to my knowledge," Bashir said stiffly, flinching at the harsh term. Stede shook his head slightly, and Bashir understood what he meant to say; _He doesn't mean you._

"Anyway," he said, clearing his throat, "I checked the double's fingerprints, and they're different from Stede's; all we have to do to prove he was innocent is get the police to check the fingerprints on the gun."

Stede turned toward Miss Gayle. "My dear, I believe you would be the best person for the job."

Miss Gayle sighed. "The only person, since you'd be arrested and Bashir and Sisko shouldn't be seen. But we left both cars back at your flat; should I 'beam' over there?"

"You don't want to risk being seen coming from his flat; that's why we beamed over here in the first place."

"I suppose I'll see if Martin will give me a lift, then."

"He said he'd already 'wasted' enough time on our 'escapades,'" Bashir said doubtfully.

"Ah, but he never means that any more than you do, my dear."

Miss Gayle looked darkly at him, but crossed to the phone to call. "Is he at his flat?"

"He mentioned seeing patients…probably in his office if he's not out on a call."

Miss Gayle nodded and dialed the number without further comment.

 **oOo**

"So, you think you have evidence to clear Stede," Dr King said a little cynically as Cathy got into the seat next to him.

"Yes. The fingerprints should be enough to get him off, but we were also hoping you would testify that the man you saw shoot Admiral Westlake wasn't Stede."

Dr King was silent for a moment, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Cathy…for all intents and purposes, it _was_."

"But you _know_ it wasn't…Don't you?" she asked, looking at him anxiously when a moment had passed without his response.

Dr King sighed. "I'd like to believe it, Cathy. But I still find it suspicious that no one has seen him and this 'double' together."

"Dr Bashir has," Miss Gayle reminded him of what she had told him over the phone.

Dr King shook his head. "I admit I find myself liking him, but I still hesitate to trust the word of a virtual stranger over my own eyes."

"But surely…you don't actually believe Stede _would_?"

Dr King closed his eyes for a brief instant as they were stopped for a crossing pedestrian. "I have seen him kill a man and leave without a backwards glance."

"Enemies of the state," Miss Gayle insisted.

"And are you so sure this admiral wasn't? You know how much Stede keeps to himself; he tells you to be there and expects you to trust him about the details he didn't bother to mention. Maybe he made a mistake this time, and he's using us to cover his tracks."

Miss Gayle shook her head. "No, I _won't_ believe that — and you don't either."

Dr King sighed. "I won't swear it _was_ Stede I saw, but until the fingerprints prove he wasn't the one who held the gun, I'm not going to swear it wasn't, either."

Miss Gayle smiled, reaching to open her door as he pulled up in front of the police station. "Fair enough. Will you wait here for me?"

"Don't take too long; I do still have patients to see."

"Thank you, Martin."

Dr King found himself smiling as he watched her walk into the building. "I'm a sucker," he admitted softly to himself. But he leaned back in the seat; his patients would just have to wait.

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 ******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions. Thanks! Barbie_

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	14. Loose Ends

**Chapter Thirteen: Loose Ends**

"I wonder how long the police will hunt for my lookalike," Stede mused.

Sisko raised an eyebrow. "You're an agent; won't it be your job?"

"Attempted murder of an admiral…you may be right. Would it disrupt the timeline to tell the authorities that I killed him?"

"Not at all," Sisko assured him. "It sounds to me like that would put history right back where it's supposed to be."

"What _will_ you do with him?" Miss Gayle asked soberly.

"We'll be turning him over to Starfleet," Sisko replied. "In the end, the double didn't have a choice; he only did what he was created to do."

"Everyone has a choice," Bashir muttered.

Stede raised an eyebrow; for someone concerned about being found out, Bashir made a lot of asides about enhanced individuals.

"But I think they'll actually be more interested in tracking down his creators," Sisko continued, apparently not noticing Bashir's remark. "They're guilty both of genetic manipulation and attempting to change history." He grimaced. "Which reminds me; I suppose we'll be meeting up with the Department of Temporal Investigations when we get back."

Bashir winced, feeling strangely as if he also were guilty of a double crime. But he hadn't asked for his enhancements, he reminded himself, and everything he had done here had been to preserve history, not change it. "They may be visiting you as well," he warned Stede. "If they think you saw too much, they'll likely brainwash all three of you to forget this whole thing ever happened."

"Oo," Stede grimaced.

"What if we play dumb?" Miss Gayle suggested.

Sisko shrugged. "I don't know if you can get away with it, but it's worth a try if you really want to keep your memories. Just don't ever tell anyone else about it, either."

"Word of honor," Stede promised.

"And Dr King?" Bashir questioned; the doctor had returned to his neglected patients after dropping Miss Gayle off.

"I can vouch for him," Miss Gayle said quietly.

Sisko nodded. "It's time we were getting back, then." He tapped his combadge. "Dax, two to beam up."

As he materialized on the _Defiant_ transporter pad, Bashir suddenly realized he was still carrying the medical bag Stede had found for him. He grinned, instantly deciding he would keep it as a souvenir.

 **Epilogue coming next week!**

 ******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions. Thanks! Barbie_

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	15. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"I have something you might be interested in, Doctor," Quark told him in a conspiratorial whisper as Bashir leaned against the bar waiting for Miles to come in for their game of darts.

"If it's anything illegal, I'm not," Bashir said firmly.

"Would _I_ offer you something illegal?"

"Maybe not; you'd be afraid I'd tell Odo," Bashir considered. "What is it, then?"

"Old Earth 2-d spy adventures."

Bashir felt a flicker of interest, but shook his head. "Not worth it at the price you'd charge."

"But look!" Quark insisted, holding out a case with a colored picture.

Bashir gasped softly and reached for it, cursing himself a moment later for displaying too obvious interest. "Where did you get these?" he whispered, staring in disbelief at the image of Miss Gayle on the cover. *****

Quark smiled mysteriously. "I never give away my sources. But I have ten of them, each with several adventures."

"How much?" Bashir demanded.

"One strip of gold-pressed latinum…each."

" _Each_?" Bashir asked in disbelief.

"Old Earth 2-Ds are hard to find," Quark said defensively. "Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it," Bashir decided quickly. "Put it on my account. I assume they'll play in the holosuite?"

"Observer only."

Bashir nodded. "Load the first one for me after my game with Miles. I suppose you're still going to charge me the usual rate for the holosuite?"

"I do have a business to run."

Bashir snorted softly, but said nothing as he spotted Miles coming toward him.

He was so distracted that he forgot to throw his aim off a little, winning easily three games in a row and absently wishing his friend "better luck next time" when Miles refused a fourth game.

What he had been puzzling over most was the problem of how he and Sisko could have interacted with Stede and his companions if they were indeed only characters in an old Earth 2-d television program. Perhaps the stories were based on real life…but then how did the actress who played Miss Gayle on the show resemble the real one so closely? Makeup and special effects weren't that good back in those days…not good enough to fool his enhanced eyes.

Had the whole adventure been his imagination; some kind of hallucination or elaborate holosuite program?

He could ask Sisko, he supposed; but the idea sounded too crazy even to him.

He chuckled suddenly as an absurd thought struck him; maybe the answer was that they were _all_ just characters on some television show.

One thing became clear in his mind as he watched the first episode play out in black and white in front of him; despite minor inconsistencies in the names of characters, that _was_ John Stede.

He spent all his spare time in the holosuite over the next few days, watching as Stede changed companions several times over the course of thirty or so episodes, and the show began to be produced in color. He wondered idly if Tara King was related in any way to Dr King — and if so, what he thought of her not only involving herself in Stede's "escapades," but actually being an agent herself.

Then came an episode in which captured Russian spies were seemingly vanishing into thin air from the supposedly escape-proof Oldhill Monastery. "Some sort of transporter beam, maybe?" Stede mused. Looking up, he seemed to directly meet Bashir's gaze…and winked.

Bashir gasped softly, not missing the implication. It all _had_ happened, and Stede was sending him the message that the Department of Temporal Investigations had allowed him to keep his memory.

But even aside from the apparent contradiction of real life versus a television show, how had Stede known he would see the program at all, let alone this particular episode, unless…

Bashir smiled slowly. Perhaps their paths were destined to cross again.

 **The End**

 *** Illustration for this scene can be found on my DeviantArt account.**

 **A/N: I was debating doing this epilogue and leaning against it, because of the "apparent contradiction of real life versus a television show," when I saw the episode featuring the Oldhill Monastery. A transporter beam was such an obvious conclusion for anyone who knew about one that I couldn't resist, and decided the paradox didn't matter for a story I don't count as having "really" happened anyway.**

 **It did occur to me recently that it might work with alternate universes… The characters from both shows might be just TV characters in our universe, but real people (with my alternate history changes made) in their own, and Quark somehow got hold of DVDs from our universe… I don't know how the "real" Stede from their universe could wink at Bashir in the TV show from ours, though! Barbie**

 **P.S. Yes, I do have a sequel planned…if I ever come up with an ending for it! B(FC)**

 ******* TITLE NEEDED! *******

 _Obviously, I need a "real" title for this story! (Especially as I have an idea for an eventual sequel, also without a title, and I can't just call them both Deep Space Nine/Avengers). I would be very glad for any suggestions. Thanks! Barbie_

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


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